


When The World Is Ending

by QueerGirlTakeover



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerGirlTakeover/pseuds/QueerGirlTakeover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Laura chooses life....<br/>based on a prompt found on carmillatexts.<br/>It's been on tumblr for a while and I finally got myself together enough to put it here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The World Is Ending

Carmilla had felt this day coming for a long time. She had felt it in the air on graduation day, before Laura even knew it was there. It had been written across the top of every job offer she got, every grad school she was accepted to. It burned on every candle, every year on Laura's birthday, it was folded between the pages of every baby magazine Carmilla pretended she hadn't seen Laura reading. Carmilla had felt this day coming, but nothing could have prepared her for watching Laura walk out the door and close it with all the finality of a gunshot.

She did not hold on as tightly as she might have, she did not grip like she was falling off a cliff and Laura was the hand reaching for her, she let Laura slip through her fingers, let her leave when she wanted. It was so much easier that way, just to pretend like it didn't matter, but when it was over she felt the wound tearing through her and she wished she could do anything but make others bleed, wished that she couldn't _feel_ like this and she ached with the beautiful reality that she does.

Every time she looks in the mirror she hears those words those _you will never grow up_ those _you cannot give me what I need_ those _I want more than this_ those words. She wears them like hair, like earrings, like a tattoo and no matter how many times she showers or changes her clothes she cannot wash them away. They turn into armor, they're what she tells herself every day, they are the walls rebuilt around her heart, they are protection and she stops wanting them to leave. It becomes easier to have them, to see the world only through the holes left in them.

She sends Laura's things to her father's house, packed neatly into boxes with printed shipping labels. She checks the house five times, then disinfects everything, trying to remove it, trying to wipe away the past years, the memories that drip from every wall, because maybe if she can take them away she won't care anymore. She cuts off all contact with Laura. It is too painful to talk to her, too hard to hear from a distance all the thing she used to see firsthand. Carmilla knows it hurts Laura and though she won't admit it to herself, deep down the vengeful, resentful part of herself is glad Laura hurts too. She had grown used to sleeping at night but once Laura is gone she lets herself return to her natural pattern, and she sorts through old pictures in the dark, pretending that she cannot see them.

Carmilla reads Laura's articles in the newspapers, watches her grow from a distance, watches her move from paper to paper, from job to job, watches her name become more prominent. She hears when Laura gets married, but lets her eyes skip over the name of her partner. All she sees is the letter  _D_ and that is not something she will subject herself to. She stops trying to think about Laura. She moves again, goes to another university, finds new girls, new distractions. She never remembers any of their names.

She dreams that she finds Laura in another city, asks to meet her for coffee. Carmilla tries hard to make it not awkward, to make it easy, but every smile is a knife, every buzz of her phone a reminder that Carmilla is no longer a part of her life. When she stands to leave, Carmilla cannot stop herself from reaching for her hand, and for one flaming moment she  _feels_ again. When Laura pulls her fingers away, sharply, it is like being plunged into a bucket of ice, it is reality crashing in waves over her. She cannot regret it. She wonders if Laura pulled away because she felt the same, but when she watches Laura walk out, take the hand of the tall redheaded woman on the sidewalk, she does not let herself believe it. Waking, she realizes that even when she dreams, she is not with Laura, and she realizes that she does not want to be. Carmilla grips her pillow with bloodless knuckles, fighting tears -  _vampires don't cry_ she tells herself. If Laura is happier without her, then Carmilla is happier that Laura is gone. Her head tries to convince her heart that she did everything right, that Laura asked her to leave and she respected her wishes, that there is nothing better she could have done.

* * *

The day they bring their first child home Laura is all anxious excitement all  _did you check are you sure_ and Danny reaches across from the driver's seat to hold her hand and say  _of course I did, I did everything._ Laura is up all night, watching the baby sleep at the foot of their bed, their dog guarding the crib. She imagines for half a moment that the dog is a black cat, that the baby has dark hair and not light, and she tells herself it could not be real.

A she hears her child say her first words, watches her take her first steps, Danny holding out strong hands to catch her if she falls, Laura cannot bring herself to regret the choice she made, she never regrets walking out that door. She still thinks of Carmilla, of the way Carmilla made her feel, all breathless lightning and thunder kisses, like a roller coaster had stolen her stomach, misplaced her heart, like everything was a whirlwind and she was riding it, like every emotion was meant to be a mountaintop or a trench. Danny smiles at her over the top of their daughter's head and Laura is reminded of home, of warm sheets right out of the drier, of kisses like a crackling hearthfire, family photos on the walls, her father's face when he sees his granddaughter for the first time and Laura knows she would make the same choice if she had to do it again.

* * *

 

Laura travels into war zones, into cities under terrorist alerts – she has never been one to let wrongs go unpunished; Carmilla had not known terror til that day. She tells herself she does not care but she can't stop herself from checking every morning. Every time Laura comes home safely. There is never an obituary with her name headlining and slowly Carmilla's feelings of fear vanish. The day they are all gone, the day she is certain nothing could ever touch Laura, she hears the report – a bombing, a shooting, a plane crash, a sudden illness, she can't remember which, can't figure the world out to decipher the words and does it really matter what caused it when the world is ending? Carmilla storms and rages, denies the truth while cursing her superiors for sending her, a woman with a family, into the line of fire.

Carmilla buys herself a plane ticket and flies to the funeral, in Laura's hometown. She stands in the shadows of the cemetary, watching the black cloud of mourners gathered around the grave, raindrop tears dripping from overcast eyes. She can hear the people's voices, hear every word they say about Laura, every wonderful piece of her life Carmilla was not a part of, and when Laf steps up she finally hears her own piece as well. They are older, more serious, but their red hair is still short, and Perry still stands a foot behind them, ready as ever to catch them should they falter, and catch them she does, when Laf's voice cracks like ice and her unsupported words drown in the water below.

They disperse slowly, and Carmilla approaches the grave, creeping catlike and quiet up behind them. Danny is the only one left, standing still and silent, one hand holding that of her six-year-old, their toddler cradled against her shoulder. She looks unsurprised to see Carmilla there, and nods at her, a gesture of support Carmilla would never have expected. Together they look at the headstone.

“Thank you for coming,” Danny finally says. “She-” her voice catches but she continues, “loved you to the end.”

Carmilla doesn't know how to respond. The little girl tugs on her mother's hand and asks, “Who's that?” Then, to Carmilla, “did you know my mom?”

Carmilla kneels in front of her, looks into her eyes so like Laura's, and all she can say is, “Yes, I did.”

The little girl looks at her and for a moment Carmilla is lost, lost in this piece of Laura still breathing when so much of her is not. It is so wrong; it is so right.

Danny shifts on her feet and tightens her grip on her daughter's hand. “We should go.” Carmilla stands again, looks up at Danny, softened by the red-haired boy asleep against her neck. “C'mon.” The child relinquishes her hand and walks past the grave, well behaved, attentive, Laura in all but age, all but name.

As Danny makes to move, Carmilla puts a hand on her arm. “What's her name?” she asks, voice lowered so the girl will not hear. Danny will not look at her for a moment, like she is considering not answering, but finally meets her eyes.

“We call her Carmilla,” Danny says. “Laura-”

“I could never have made her happy,” Carmilla interrupts. “Thank you. For giving her what she needed. Thank you for making her happy.”

Danny swallows, nods, then turns away. Carmilla's hand drops from her arm and she watches them go, the little family all so alive even in this place of sleeping death. She wants to feel angry, wants to resent and despise Danny, wants to rue her decision to let Laura go, but she thinks of how the child will grow up with Laura's hair and voice, her nose, her smile, how she will carry memories of Laura laughing at childish jokes, rocking tears away, slipping her cookies when Danny wasn't watching, she thinks of how the child will tell her own children stories of her mother, how Laura will live on, immortal in a way Carmilla will never be, and she knows that this is right.

 


End file.
